


Wings

by Jenny_Starseed



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F, Pining, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny_Starseed/pseuds/Jenny_Starseed
Summary: Mila Babicheva spent many hours wondering what her wings are like.   She often asks other people with wings what hers looks like but no one will tell her.They say only soulmates should tell describe them to you and Mila shouldn't be robbed of the privilege.  So she waits for that one special wingless boy to tell to truly see her, for it is only wingless people who can truly be your soulmate.





	Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zelinxia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelinxia/gifts).



Mila Babicheva spent many hours wondering what her wings were like. Could they be as red as her hair? Or as dull grey as the annoying seagulls that perched themselves outside her rink. Maybe they were a beautiful robin blue colour. She knew better than to ask people with wings what her own wings looked like. No one would tell her. She was often told that only soulmates should describe them to you and Mila shouldn’t be robbed of the privilege. So she waited for that one special wingless boy to truly see her, for it is only wingless people who can truly be your soulmate.

Victor’s wings were a lot like Victor himself: long, graceful and dramatic. Each silver feather shimmered with an iridescence that was almost ethereal. Whoever would fall in love with Victor will be someone special. Mila watched his wings flow behind him. He was skating so fast it was like a blur of shimmer trailed behind him. Mila wondered if Victor had any idea how beautiful they were and how lucky his soulmate would be. She only hoped hers would be just as stunning.

 

* * *

 

The Boy was cute. He had very good teeth for a hockey player and the most wonderful dimples when he smiled. When he kissed her, all she could think about was when would he ever run his hand through her feathers. Her mother told her it was the best feeling in the world to feel that lovely ticklish shiver when your beloved ran their fingers through your feathers.

Instead, he pulled her close and his hand went down his back and she couldn’t feel that shiver. When she ran her own fingers through her feathers, it felt like running your hands through your hair but with a bit of a tingle.

The boy deepened the kiss. He said the nicest things about the way she smelled, the colour of her hair and how hot her ass was, but nothing about the beauty of her wings. She put on the politest smile she had and pulled away from him.

“I’ve got practice today,” she said as she straightened her shirt.

The boy frowned. “You told me you had a rest day.”

Mila laughed. “I got my days mixed up. I just remembered today is Saturday and I need to meet Yakov at the rink soon.”

She got off him and looked for her coat.

“I’ll call you,” she lied, once she found it. She didn’t wait to hear his response when she slammed the car door behind her.

 

* * *

 

As a child, Mila would constantly ask her mother what her wings looked like. Her mother’s wings were tiny with soft downy egg cream yellow feathers. Her wings only flapped when she was amused or angry but were mostly content to float happily when she hummed while she cooked. Mila hoped that her wings were large and sweeping so they could wrap the around the boy next door when she tackled him for a hug.

Mila begged her mother for a hint. Were they rainbow coloured like the parakeet on her father’s screensaver? Or were they proud and intimidating like an eagle? Large feathers? Or small and chicklike like her mother’s?

Her mother was a tall and striking woman whose laugh was like a song whenever Mila hounded her like this.

“I couldn’t tell you,” she said after enduring an afternoon of questions.

“But why?” Mila asked. Mila knew why but she always wanted her mother to tell her. It gave her hope.

Her mother knelt down to her knees to sweep away a stray hair off Mila’s face. “Because your soulmate is the only one who can. You should know this. It’s why your older brother won’t tell you. He knows better than to spoil the surprise. And so will everyone you meet with wings.”

“What’s so magical about a soulmate that I have to wait so long?”

“Imagine all your Christmases happening at once. The feeling when you get the firsts pick of chocolate in a box of chocolates. Or that feeling when you bite into an orange in the morning but ten times better. You like oranges, don’t you, Mila?”

“I do,” said Mila.

Her mother kissed her forehead. “Then you already understand why some things are worth the wait.”

 

* * *

 

No one knows why winged people can only fall in love with those without wings. That is just the way things are. And where's the magic when all is known? People with wings are notorious dreamers. Just ask Mila and Victor.  
  


 

* * *

 

 

Little Yuri was screaming again. He often did that when she had him in a headlock.

"Get off me, you old hag!!"

"Not until you take it back," she sang in her sing song voice. "My little Yuri should learn to watch his mouth."

Victor stopped and skated towards them. "What did little Yuri do this time?"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

"He said some very rude things. Didn't you, my little Yuri?" cooed Mila, tightening her grip.

"GAH! GET OFF!"

"Some very rude things about bird droppings. You understand, don't you, Victor?" said Mila.

"I do," said Victor. "But Yakov won't like it if we had to carry him out of the rink when he passes out. Yuri is a child. He doesn't know what he speaks of. Have mercy on him."

Mila let go. Little Yuri slumped against the board, panting.

"I'm-" wheezed Yuri. "Not. A... child!"

 

* * *

 

 

“I meant what I said earlier,” said Victor, handing Mila a cup of tea. “Yura can be a little shit.” He sighed dramatically and flung himself on the armchair. “He doesn’t understand what we go through.”

Mila sat back on the couch and studied Victor’s casual sprawl on the armchair. Even when he’s lounging around, he looked as elegant as ever. His wings were as dramatic as he was. The draped over the armchair, each feather soft and straight like it had undergone hours of grooming so that each feather lay itself on the chair just so. Some things about Victor were so effortless, it would be easy to hate him if he wasn’t so disarming with his easy laugh and goofy smiles.

“Have you’ve found anyone, Victor?” she asked.

Victor smiled. It wasn’t one of his easy ones. “These wings are too beautiful for mere mortals to see. How about you? Any luck with that hockey player? He was very handsome.”

Mila shook her head.

“My mother always said you can’t hurry perfection,” said Victor, like he had recited this many times before. “And she hasn’t been wrong before.  
  


* * *

 

 

Mila goes out with a lot of guys. She ignored the disgusted sounds little Yuri made when they meet her outside the rink. Some are short. Some are tall. Fair, dark and one with alarming shade of blue. Every flavour of handsome. Even Victor was impressed by the men she attracted. She waited for them to look just to the little to the left or just the little to the right of her shoulder. She dates a beautiful bespectacled boy and asked him to check if there was a mole on her shoulder. In the mirror, his eyes don’t look up and his hands don’t reach for her feathers. The date is over before the bespectacled boy even knew it.

* * *

 

Sara Crispino was the luckiest girl in the world. She had such beautiful raven straight hair and the loveliest violet eyes. Her hair behaved, unlike Mila's own unruly curls. Wild, her mother said. Her hair was wild as the wind.

Sara Crispino was blessed. Like grace on ice, her glittering costume swished and swirled when she turned this way and that. It was like she was performing an one-woman tango on the ice. They say it takes two to tango, but those people have never seen the way Sara moved on the ice.

When she skated to the kiss and cry, her brother was there waiting. There were two modes to Michele Crispino: clinging and snarling. He clung to his sister like a life line, and snarled like an overbearing cat with claws to any man who dared look at his sister. But with Mila, he hung back. All it took was one look and Michele backed off.

Mila unzipped her team Russia jacket. Her the light layers of green and blue chiffon made her feel like a beautiful serpent in the water when she skated. It was a shame the costume wouldn't be longer. But even the ever head in the clouds dreamer like Victor would laugh when she said this. The material would strangle her legs and she'll go down like a twisted cucumber before she'd even attempt a triple salchow.

"How do you like it?" she asked. Mila gathered her hair with an elastic snug against her wrist, unsure if she wanted her hair up or down to show off her new undercut.

Sara was unlacing her skates and she looked up at Mila, her jaw dropped as though she was stunned. "It's very nice."

Mila followed her gaze, which seemed to be just beyond her shoulder. She turned around to show Sara what she did with her hair. "How do you like it?"

"It’s Beautiful."

* * *

 

Mila imagined Sara's love life to be terribly cumbersome. People used to ask Mila about Sara and Michele. Is there something not right between the two of them? She flirted with as many men as Mila did but with an eye always watching Michele. It seemed terribly oppressive to always date with one eye on your brother’s reaction. But Sara can't imagine it any other way.

Mila tries to warn some of them. Most don’t want to believe her. But Victor thinks he knows better.

“Oh Mila. Are you sure it’s the pure hearts of Sara’s suitors that you’re worried about?”

Mila frowned. “Why else?”

“You two are funny," Victor laughed. "You quietly try to sabotage each other’s love lives and it has never occurred to you that that isn’t something best friends do?”

* * *

 

Sara didn’t like her boyfriends. She never said so. She would go very quiet with her lips drawn in a tight line. But Mila never missed the way her eyes lingered after her when she got into another car with her boy of the week. How could she? It was like her eyes followed her until she was out of sight. Mila couldn't tell you why she's secretly pleased. But it was nice being looked after. After all, Sara had a gift for glaring at the very worst of her boyfriends. Like a secret litmus test, you could always tell who was truly unworthy by the intensity of Sara's glare.

* * *

 

Mila doesn’t need to warn Seung-gil Lee. Seung-gil is a cold in his one-word responses to Sara. Sara didn’t seem to mind. She ignored it completely with her cheerful chatter. Her graceful hand attempted to touch his elbow but Seung-gil just flinches away, as though he was being touched by a bug. Why Sara decided to flirt with Seung-gil was beyond Mila.

"He looked so lonesome," said Sara when Mila asked her later. "I should have known better. I met him earlier in the elevator today. Michele was there and I tried to be friendly. But then the rudest things came out of his mouth and it was all I could do to keep Michele from hitting him."

"What did he say?"

"He said something like it was useless to go out on a date with him since I had no use to him."

"That's terrible," was all Mila could say. She wanted to ask why she even bothered with a second attempt. Instead she asked, “were you even interested?"

"There's plenty of fish in the sea as they say."

It wasn’t a real answer but Mila knew better than to keep asking when Sara kept her own secrets like this.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Mila wondered if flying felt as good as skating. When she glided across the ice, feeling the air rush through her hair...would that same wind feel the same? She once asked Victor this.

He laughed. "I bet it would feel even colder."

"But would it be better?"

"There's only one way to find out," he said, pointing up at the sky where the seagulls flew high above the parking lot.

"Pfft. I would never turn into one of them."

"You would be much more impressive."

"I would."

* * *

 

Mila could never get tired of watching Sara skate. All sparkles and spins and speed. In her dreams, Sara would glide across the ice in a layback Ina Bauer. Time slowed to let Mila admire the beautiful arch of Sara’s back and the graceful way the palms of her hands opened up, as though they were waiting for a delicate gift. The rink was empty and Mila could never remember if any music could be heard. Perched atop the lonely stands, Mila could see the shadow of her wings touch the dark and dingy floor.

* * *

 

"Do you know what your wings look like?"

Victor beamed. "I do! Oh, I do! I feel so light."

"Could you fly with those wings?" Mila teased.

"I don't need to. I have Yuuri."

 

* * *

 

Sara did this at every banquet. She would flirt shamelessly with every one of Michele’s competitors. It used to be a playful, teasing thing she did to irritate Michele. Now it was done to provoke him. Everyone in the skating world knew this so no one took her seriously.

It was why Victor paid no mind to the attention Sara lavished on Yuri.

“Didi you wear this tie at the last banquet?” asked Sara, her voice light with an airy charm that was as fleeting as her sugary coos and ahs. Her hair swirled and pinned into an elegant twist, studded with glittering stones that matched the silver shimmer of her halter dress. It was such a waste on Yuuri, whose deer in headlights gaze darted across the room, obviously looking for Victor.

“Um, yes,” said Yuuri. “Victor hates it.”

“Yuuri, you should rescue your boyfriend,” said Mila, nodding over to the corner of the room where Victor and Yuri stood. “He looks like he’s going to hug Yuri and nothing good can come of that.”

“Right. "It was nice seeing you, Sara," said Yuuri, half walking, half running to where Victor was.

Mila laughed. “Your charms are wasted on Yuuri. You should use them on someone who can appreciate your feminine charms.”

Mila felt something tickle her neck when Sara gazed at that special spot. The spot she had hoped all the guys she dated would look. Sometimes it was off to the right, near her ear or above her head. Always by instinct, she knew where those guys should be looking at any given time. Sara’s gaze hit right where it should and she shivered.

Sara put down her glass and took Mila by the hand.

“What are you doing?” asked Mila. She could feel every thump of her heart beat as Sara led her to the center of the dance floor. Sara put her hand around Mila’s waist.

“Taking your advice,” said Sara, pulling Mila close. Sara looked off to the side of Mila’s shoulder, lifted her finger to trace—

Ooooh. A static flickering followed where Sara’s finger went. An almost prickly feeling you get when your hand got too close to sparklers on a birthday cake. Warmth filled Mila as she felt something release, almost out of relief to be free and to be seen. It’s almost felt like she was floating. Sara glanced up, her impossibly bright eyes wide with astonishment. Mila pressed close against Sara, her arms wrapped around her neck like she was the only thing that was holding her, keeping her from floating away. Sara smelled so nice. Like vanilla and sugar. She rested her head on Sara’s shoulder and all was well. She could rest her head here forever.

Mila closed her eyes tight. “Please don’t say they look like seagull’s wings. I hate those winged rats.”

Sara laughed. A full and buttery laugh that is nothing like the hollow little giggles that Mila heard so often. And suddenly Mila knew she was in love. How did she not know before?

Sara lifted Mila’s chin and touched her forehead with her own. “No, never.”

“Good,” said Mila and leaned in for a kiss.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve had a girlfriend before,” said Sara, leading her out of the banquet hall. It seemed to be a new pattern. Sara led. Mila followed.

Mila backed her into the elevator when the doors opened with a ping! Sara pulled Mila into another kiss. Hands grazed her wings and she gasped. “Sara!”

Sara caressed one of her feathers with the back of her hand. The elevator was one where the walls were mirrors, creating a multiplying illusion of a hundred copies of Sara and Mila, spreading into the unknown distance. Everywhere, she could see her wings. The tips of her wings were white and gradually darkened to pink then red. Deep red tips. They didn’t shimmer like Victor’s. But the looked velvety. Softer and more beautiful than the crushed velvet of Sara’s Free skate costume from years before. They reached from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Oh! It was everything Mila dreamed up and then some more.

It was too good to be true. She can’t believe it. “You can see them, can’t you?”

Sara nodded.

“What do they look like?”

Sara looked incredulous. “You mean you can’t— “

“What do they look like?” Mila insisted. “My mother said the best thing in the world was to have your soulmate describe them to you for the first time.”

Mila kissed her hand. “Just, please? What do they look like?”

Sara’s eyes roamed around the cramped space that seemed infinite. Whites, pinks and reds. Feathers everywhere. The elevator wasn’t humming. They hadn’t even thought to push a button yet.

“I-they’re…. I can’t really describe them. There’s no words, really.”

After all these years of wondering, Sara won’t tell her. It wasn’t how Mila imagined it to be. But it didn’t seem to matter now. Her heart was so full of joy, there could only be possibilities. Mila almost wanted to cry.

“It’s been you all this time,” said Mila when Sara started to kiss her on the neck. “I thought I was going crazy. Like I was imagining it.”

“All your stupid boyfriends,” growled Sara in between kisses. “I was waiting for the day I wouldn’t see your wings anymore because some stupid boy saw them too.”

 

* * *

 

They held each other that night in Mila’s hotel room. The sweat cooled on their skin. Mila laid back on the pillow. Sara traced the downy white and pink feathers near her shoulders, her finger following them down to the longer ones that gradually grew into a darker shade of red. Sara can’t stop touching them. Mila can’t stop staring at them.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you could see them?” asked Mila.

Sara buried her face into the crook of Mila’s neck. “I thought I was imagining it. Sometimes I could see a ghostly outline of them. Like a faded water colour. I didn’t want to disappoint you. You had all those boyfriends.”

Mila laughed. “You really hated them. Was my taste in men really that bad?”

“No,” said Sara. “But your taste in women is much better.”

She kissed Mila deeply and who was Mila to argue with that?

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written wingfic before and this is probably the longest femslash fic I've written. I hope I've pulled it off.


End file.
